


What Holds Us Together

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Coping, Grief, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: The Leps' first time in the studio following the death of Steve Clark. Everyone knew it would be hard, but Phil takes it the hardest. Joe takes it upon himself to help Phil see hope in the situation, and remind him that his bandmates will stand by him.





	What Holds Us Together

**Author's Note:**

> Backed up from Rockfic -a Ficmas 2016 wish written for user blacksapphire, who requested a slash pairing of Joe and Phil with Phil finally cracking and mourning the loss of Steve three months after his death, and Joe comforting him.

Three miserable months of heartache, grief, frustration, and confusion had passed, and now Def Leppard was finally back in the studio, following the death of their beloved friend and guitarist, Steve Clark. 

In Joe Elliott's mind, it was a blessing and a curse at the same time. He knew it was about time they began working on recording. Steve would have hated them to sit around moping and crying over him, and they all knew that Steve would have wanted them to keep going. Otherwise, they may not have been back here so soon. And it was finally a return to normalcy after memorials and all the grieving. Writing stuff to complete the parts that Steve had left them was the difficult part. Now, that was done, and they could record it and really pay tribute to Steve. 

But, Joe knew it was going to be a very hard thing for all of them. This was the first time for them ever recording without Steve. It was very different -there was an emptiness they hadn't quite gotten used to, as well as a loss of a certain sound that was uniquely the late guitarist's. And for Phil, the Terror Twin left behind, it was a brutal test. Not only was he experiencing that first time in the studio without his very best friend and partner in crime, but he was having to fulfill the difficult task of playing Steve's parts -trying to reenact his style and sound into it as if Steve really were there and playing it. 

And Phil was struggling. He kept a stoic facade, pretending nothing was wrong, but his bandmates could see right through it. 

Rick Allen couldn't stand it after a while, seeing Phil's hands tremor slightly as he tried to pick out the melodies that Steve had written, his brow furrowing with a twist of discomfort each time his pick hit the guitar string and it reverberated in a way that wasn't exactly Steve, but like him. Almost as if a ghost was playing it. It was eerie. Rick had to leave the room, ever so sensitive to the slight signs of frustration that he knew all too well from a very different but just as frustrating and painful event. 

Except nothing was going to bring Steve back. 

"Phil, mate, take a break for a moment; you look like you're not feeling well," warned Joe. 

He'd been watching Phil with Sav and Rick for almost two hours now. Though Phil was doing well, he knew that Phil wasn't satisfied, the way he'd shake his head, mutter something inaudible that was presumably a swear by his emphasis on it, and then try it again, endlessly. There was a point half an hour ago when Phil was flushed red, but now he was progressively becoming pale in the face. Rick getting up and stepping out confirmed to Joe that he wasn't imagining things. 

Phil stood up and came over to Joe. His face was void of most emotions, but he looked angry at Joe, nearly hostile. 

"I'm fine, Joe! Bloody Hell, you blokes have been non-stop that past three months following me around and word-coddling me as if I'm a three year old baby! For goodness sake, would you stop? And don't think you're innocent in this either, Sav, because you may not be as direct to me, but I know you're thinking it behind my back every single moment!"

Joe was taken aback for a second. But he also wasn't buying it. Of all of them, Phil had done the least healing with them. He'd withdrawn, refused to talk about how he felt about Steve, and essentially been quiet, shielded -almost locked inside himself with only a hard exterior to be seen or heard from. 

Sav flinched, his eyes pained. Joe saw him swallow hard. Though it couldn't be denied that Sav was a worrier, it was Sav's serious take on getting through things together that had not only helped Def Leppard form, but had kept it together in previous crises. And Sav was also very close friends with Steve. Phil's outburst had to have cut through him. 

"Phil," warned Joe, his tone soft and rather defeated -an unusual thing for him. "That really wasn't fair." 

"Oh, so you think this is fair? You think any of this is bloody fucking fair, do ya? I'm fed up, I tell you! For Steve to have been so brutally tormented by his old man that the damage ripped him away from the one thing that gave him joy -and now his friend he could trust to not overstep the boundary of what was his is having to betray him by taking over his work? Bollocks, Joe!" shouted Phil.

He had been pale a second ago, but now he was practically white as a sheet, and a shadow of grey was beginning to cross his face. 

"Phil, stop and settle down -you're going to make yourself sick," Sav ordered sternly. 

"Shut up, Savage! I bloody damn well don't want to hear it -I'm fine! You know why I'm fine? I'm alive! I have a chance to pick up a guitar again, but that's been taken away from somebody! It's not fair to him." 

"And this isn't fair either. Because you know damn full well just how much it would upset Steve to see us having a bloody shouting match over him. Take a look at yourself, Phil," said Sav firmly.

Joe looked at Sav, and Phil. Sav looked so sad and tired -worn down from the process of grieving, but accepting of the outburst as just another phase of the healing process that they had to pass through. 

Phil still had a glare in his eyebrows, but it was becoming weaker. He was physically exhausted -weeks of improper sleep and restlessness, but also bottling up and not expelling the toxic grief of losing his best friend. 

"Joe, Sav -I can't do it. I can't bloody do it! It's too eerie -I feel like I'm playing with a ghost or being possessed, and it's not -I can't -" 

Joe could see Phil's eyes lose light and become listless, his deathly grey face relaxing from the glare. He jumped up and ran over, catching Phil as his body slumped over and collapsed. Phil was broken out in a cold sweat. Moreover, he was broken on the inside, and the damage was finally beginning to spread and crack his surface. This was the result. 

"Oh, bleeding hell! Joe? My God, is he alright?" demanded Sav. 

Joe felt over Phil's chest, could feel he was breathing plenty deeply. His heart was beating strong -albeit fast with exertion and agitation. 

"I think he'll be okay. He's just knackered, mate. He's physically and mentally knackered." 

Sav bit his lip. 

"As much as I'd love to make more progress today, I think we'd best not push it. It's only our first day back, and it's not an easy thing. We should go home. We got a start, that's what matters," murmured Sav, before looking up concerned. "Joe, I don't think Phil should drive himself home. He's in a bad way. I'm not sure if he should even be alone tonight. Maybe you can take him home, and I can go over to his place later or something?"

Joe knew that Sav had to be pretty tired after recording a couple of bass lines today, and after a week of arranging studio times they could do. Although he wasn't looking forward to the implications of looking after Phil, Joe figured it would be best if he took care of everything for once and let Sav get some rest. 

"Sav, you know what? I'll drive him home and I'll stay and take care of him, mate. Just don't worry about it -I didn't have much to do here today." 

Sav looked slightly surprised, but he wasn't going to argue with Joe. 

"Thanks, mate. I owe you one after this." He smiled tiredly. 

"It's all good, Sav. Upsy-daisy..." Joe hoisted Phil up, who was beginning to slowly regain consciousness -his eyelids fluttering, letting out a soft moan. 

"Come on," said Joe, getting Phil supported over his shoulder. "I'm driving you home. And God be damned if you think I'm going to leave you there alone after that." 

Phil didn't even bother arguing, as if all his energy to do so had been spent right before he passed out. 

Joe helped Phil into the front passenger seat of his car before taking his own place in the driver's seat and starting up the engine. He noticed how Phil slumped against the car door, propping his elbow against the door and resting his cheek on his hand. He faced the window, and didn't look at Joe. 

But by the time they neared Phil's house, Phil was shaking, and Joe could hear his breathing taking on a slightly irregular pattern. The car was pin silent -so tense that Joe felt as if he was suffocating, and he couldn't have gotten pulled up on the driveway fast enough.

Phil didn't say anything as they entered the house, and Joe didn't prompt him with questions. He knew what was coming, and it was three months overdue, having built up. He wasn't going to do anything that would stop it from happening and releasing Phil from his internal torment. He simply got a glass of water from the fridge and encouraged Phil to drink it, knowing it was best after passing out. 

Then, he led Phil upstairs, and motioned for Phil to lie down in his bed. 

Phil stopped.

"Phil, you're exhausted. Don't deny it -you fainted in the studio. I'm not bloody stupid," said Joe sternly. 

"So alone," murmured Phil, almost in a trance like way. He trembled, his voice shook, and he spoke in clipped phrases. "So cold... So empty... I can't-"

"Yes, Phil, you _can_ ," insisted Joe. "Here, you can, and you're not going to be alone either." Joe climbed onto Phil's bed, and gently tugged Phil toward it. Phil mechanically lowered himself onto the bed too. 

"Lie down," said Joe, pulling back the covers so that Phil would crawl under and lie down. 

Phil did so, trembling. He looked utterly terrified.

Joe then quickly got in next to Phil.

"Come here, mate," he said softly, lying down and reaching his arms out to pull the guitarist in toward himself. "C'mere." 

As soon as Joe's warm, muscular arms made contact with Phil, he shuddered violently. It was like a shockwave going through a cracked piece of glass. Then, he broke apart. 

Blinding, white hot pain reaching the surface; built up grief released in droves, brutally following one after another, relentlessly. He grabbed hold of Joe and clung desperately, trying to resist being swept away by the furious tide rising.

Joe didn't loosen his hold on Phil. He felt hot tears on his arm as they ran off the side of Phil's cheek. Every sob that wracked Phil's body reverberated through his own.

But he patiently lay there, continuing to hold Phil together as this building demon of grief within him ripped its way out; a pure exorcism of heartache.

When the hyperventilation between sobs started, the result of physical stress from prolonged, heavy weeping, Joe used his free hand on the side he wasn't laying on to reach further around Phil's back and rub small, soothing circles.

"Shhhh..." Joe gently shushed Phil, encouraging him to calm down some so that he didn't become ill. But he still also encouraged Phil to continue expelling the pain of losing his closest friend that nobody could ever replace. 

"That's it, mate. Just let it all out."

Minutes passed, and slowly, Phil's sobs reduced to sniffles and intermittent whimpers. There was a sizable wet patch on the pillows of tears and saliva, as well as on Joe's t-shirt. Ordinarily, Joe would have been slightly weirded out by this, but in times like these, he could hardly care less. He'd had plenty of tears on him from all his bandmates following Rick's accident, and he'd left plenty of his own on them. Now, it was the same thing all over again, only this was over the loss of Steve. 

Finally, Phil lay quiet in Joe's arms. He had cried himself out into a much needed deep sleep. Glancing at his watch, Joe could see that Phil had gone on for nearly half an hour. 

He would still have a lot to go through, but the seal was broken, and now that the initial pain had been set free, Phil would have room to begin healing.

Phil still held onto Joe in his sleep, albeit relaxed and looser. Joe continued to keep his arms around Phil, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep too.

Three hours later, Joe awoke to Phil murmuring fitfully in his sleep. Something to the effect of trying to help Steve, save him from potentially fatal danger. 

"No... Steve, I'm here. I'll help you. Come with me, I'm here... No, don't go that way-" 

"Phil!" hissed Joe in a whisper. He poked Phil sharply in the arm. 

Phil flinched and awoke with a yelp and a gasp. 

"No!" he shouted, sitting up.

"Phil, look at me; you're here," ordered Joe firmly, placing his hands on Phil's shoulders, bringing him back to reality. He touched a palm to Phil's cheek.

Phil squinted, shaking his head as he snapped out of it. 

"Oh God, Joe... No, I can't. This..." 

"Yes; yes you can, Phil. Steve was a tormented soul, and unfortunately it was more than he could handle. But he wouldn't want you to be a tormented person for it. You're going to be strong and get past this. And we're here to help you Phil. We've been here for three months. You just needed to accept it." 

"It's totally different without him still," insisted Phil, lying back down. 

"Hey." Joe started to speak, but then he stopped. He wasn't Steve, and he'd never replace Steve, but he could give Phil some comfort to remind him that Steve loved him and was watching over him. 

Leaning forward toward Phil, he brushed aside sweat-dampened strands of blond hair and softly placed a kiss on Phil's forehead. 

The same way Joe knew that Phil used to do to Steve when Steve would panic and Phil wanted to comfort him. 

Phil looked up at Joe, eyes widened with surprise. 

"You took care of him and loved him, mate. But we all love you too. You're every bit as important to us, we don't want you tearing yourself apart for this, and now we're all going to take care of you," said Joe. "We love each other -as brothers or more than that for some of us. That love is what holds us together and has held us together through everything big or small that has happened to us. And you're part of that too." 

There was silence for a minute.

Then, Phil leaned forward and embraced Joe hard and tight. This was a strong hug full of gratitude, love, caring, brotherhood, and healing. It wasn't one full of grief and despair when he'd cracked a few hours ago. There was still deep sadness and aching, but there was hope.

Hope that it would be okay, and that Phil would find happiness. Because everyone knew more than anything that Steve wouldn't want Phil to live the rest of his life in misery.

Joe pressed another kiss this time to Phil's cheek. 

Phil turned around and connected his lips with Joe's, causing Joe to momentarily lose his breath. 

They both lay back down, exhausted. Joe protectively slid an arm around Phil again. Phil reached out and gently played with Joe's hair, curling the strands around his fingers and combing through them, but not pulling. 

"I love you too, mate. I love all of you guys," murmured Phil, slightly breathless. "Thanks, Joe."

Joe could tell Phil was starting to succumb to sleep again, the grip of the nightmare having released itself.

But before he let himself go back to sleep, he whispered softly:

"No problem, mate."


End file.
